Cops and Robbers
by Corsair Sinphonse
Summary: It's 1946. The second World War has ended. Some strange things have been happening to the American public lately, however, and somehow, Alfred is fairly positive he knows who's behind it. Rated M for future chapters.
1. If We Catch A Criminal

**A/N:** Back with an experiment of sorts, and things will get very... interesting? Complicated? You decide. I'm excited about this story, though, and I hope you will be too! c: I guess it'll become pretty apparent, but the story is set during the Cold War (as all my stories seem to be, because who am I kidding, the dynamic between America and Russia at that point is absolutely delicious~)

Hopefully I'll get around to updating once a week, but we'll see how long that lasts.

I think for future reference, I should go ahead and warn about language, sexual implications, actions, that sort of thing, but I don't want to spoil the fun, so enjoy!

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><p>The corridor was eerily familiar. At least, to those who had the unfortunate duty of making themselves familiar with the building in which it resided. The fame of the headquarters mainly lay in the flashy atrium, displaying various aircraft models suspended from overly polished glass panes. Most of those in attendance of the agency's press conferences never even gave the building's interior a glance, though the long wall of windowpanes behind the stand would surely imply that someone would peer inside once and a while.<p>

But then again, who would really ask what went on behind their closed doors?

A crisply uniformed blonde strode down the hallway, his pace a bit more hurried than normal. He stopped at the row of windows, glancing outside into the rainy streets as the screams of sirens echoed through the city from several blocks away. His eyebrows furrowed as gloved fingers pressed the elevator button. Days like these made the department fidget more than usual, and he was just as happy to rid himself of the stress as they were. A receptionist glanced up at the click of the man's boots, before her eyes darted to the clock on the wall as she made a note of the time. But by the time she looked up again - perhaps to greet the man, or perhaps to point out rather condescendingly that he was late to meet the commissioner - he was already through the elevator door and gone.

The elevator stopped at the basement with a slight jolt as the man stepped into another corridor, considerably narrower and entirely less aesthetically appealing.

"So, you came after all, Alfred?"

As he looked over at the chief of police exiting an office, Alfred couldn't help but to grin at the man's weary state. "And here I was, thinking things were going so well when you handled them on your own," he replied, gripping the older man's hand in a shake. The commissioner sighed, and ran a hand through his graying hair. "I don't know about this one. He's… different," he said with a grimace, "and I'm worried that we've got more on our plate than we think." It had taken a considerable amount of preparation to gain a lead on the subject of the discussion, as well as a considerable amount of research on exactly _what _had been happening to those left in his burning path, but when the department sent out a team to go take the suspect into custody, they were surprised to be met with the character they'd found, now being held in the next room.

Alfred picked up a file from a nearby desk with a bark of laughter. "Commissioner, you've said that on more than one occasion, I think we'll be alright." As he paused to take a sip of coffee, Alfred caught the man rolling his eyes at the nation. "Always so eager to play the hero," he murmured, holding back another sigh as the American beamed. "Why don't you go in and start getting some information from this guy?" Alfred nodded, grabbing a few more papers and a pen off the desk. "Sure. Can I get the key?" He started for the door of the main interrogation chamber, turning around confusedly when met with silence.

"Commissioner?"

"Actually, he uh… wanted the conference room."


	2. Bullets Make Your Thoughts Clearer

**A/N: **Dual-post with chapter one, because I'm not so sadistic as to give you about 500 words to launch from. Well... maybe not this time around. (;

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><p>"Say again?"<p>

"He wanted the conference room."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, lowering his hand from the doorknob of the interrogation room. After a moment's dazed silence, the commissioner coughed and spoke again. "Well," he began, "when we got his location and went in for him, he came in totally willing… but when we got here, he went ballistic, _literally, _ and demanded all but royal treatment. Fuckin' princess." He paused to pull out a cigarette, swearing as he flicked the thumbwheel unsuccessfully a few times. Blowing out a puff of smoke after a moment's time, he glanced up at the nation before him.

"And that's when he asked for you."

This wasn't the first time someone had asked for Alfred, but not until recently had the department bothered to pay much attention to the simpleton requests of subjects to meet with the first figure they could think of, or the head of office, otherwise. That is, until things started happening across the country that demanded – no, _screamed_ for – the attention of the agency. The phone lines had been overwhelmed with calls from across the country, reporting breakouts of erratic and unpredictable behavior from otherwise normal constituents. The reports detailed activity ranging from homicide to tendencies that could ordinarily be passed off as a bad case of bipolar disorder. Laying such charges at the doors of the medical professionals was one thing, but the evidence that was present suggested that something bigger was at work here. And although the specialty of the agency was intelligence, as the name denoted, the staff hadn't been reaching any trends in their data, and were certainly far from finding a conclusion.

That is, until a report that was originally considered to be the manifestation of hysteria in a piece of journalism hit the national news.

Alfred walked down the dimly lit corridor to the conference room at the end of the hallway, passing several of his colleagues along the way. A murmur passed through them as he moved past, a few heads turned here and there, but the only concern Alfred had was finding out who exactly was behind that door. Yet, as he pushed against the frosted glass window and opened the door, he was met with an interesting sight.

Two guards stood at the back of the room, armed with Remington 870s. At the head of the conference table, a chair sat turned toward in the opposite direction. Alfred's glare deepened at the insubordination, and tossed the file on the table (perhaps _too_ vehemently) before clearing his throat. However, it evidently got the man's attention, as he was greeted immediately – but the chair didn't move. "Ah, Alfred! You finally came to see me. And what a true _honor_ it is." Alfred had to fight the urge to practically bare his fangs. The voice was condescending and dripping in sarcasm, complete with America's own dialect. "Apparently you don't realize what I'm here for, so I'd suggest you shut the fuck up and let me do the talking," he shot back. Yet as fierce as his response suggested him to be, he couldn't help but shake the feeling that he'd recognized the voice.

"_Touchy _today, aren't we?" Low laughter resounded from the opposite side of the room. Alfred rolled his eyes. "I want to know everything you do regarding what's been in the news recently." The figure at the end of the table feigned childlike naivety in his response. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Do enlighten me." One of the guards at the door rested his hand on the forestock of his gun. "If you don't know anything, why do you suppose your sorry ass is here?" The smile was evident in the man's voice. "I figured you all just loved having me around to play with," he drawled. "Your humor is sidesplitting, truly," the American said flatly, without looking up. Alfred opened the file, but didn't have to glance at the pictures to know who was sitting in the chair in front of him.

"And drop the shitty accent, you're giving me a headache."

Both guards jumped when the chair suddenly spun around to reveal a beaming Ivan Braginski sitting at the end of the table. "Ah, so you _did_ know it was me! And just as well… your absurd linguistics leave an awful taste in my mouth." Kicking both his heels up on the conference table, the nation rested his arms behind his head, grin widening as Alfred's eyes flashed. "You never answered the question," Alfred said sharply, "of what the hell you're doing to my country." Throwing his hands up, Ivan shook his head. "Ah… _your _country. Hmm…" He tapped his chin intently, turning back to Alfred after hearing an agitated noise from his end of the room. Smiling, he replied, "I know not of what you refer to, Америка."

His smile disappeared as a newspaper flew across the room and hit him square in the face.

Picking up the folded newspaper, he glanced at the headlines and couldn't help but to chuckle at the text that met his eyes – "Seattle consumed by the fire of the Reds" – and further down the page, several thrilling claims of espionage, and even "body-snatchers".

"I do not see anything out of place. It seems your country really appreciates the science fiction genre, da?" Not amused, Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "You don't consider hysteria caused by your fucking meddling to be something that merits prosecution? On at least _one _front? That's funny, because I do."

Ideology had evidently been branded as a disease. Perhaps there was more to the American media than simple aggressive capitalism – the executives at the top of the hearsay food chain were some of the most influential people in the Western country (although that didn't take much, noted Ivan), and implemented innovative techniques to ensure their public was controlled like a flock of sheep.

Typical.

"Oh, that," Ivan said happily. "I have not been doing a thing… simply giving them a taste of the things I've grown up with", he said with a twisted smirk, gazing intently back into Alfred's piercing blue eyes. One of the guards in the corner shifted, however, drawing the Russian's attention. "Would you like to say something, comrade? In fact, I think we have been of a nameless acquaintance for long enough, so what might your name be?" Ivan beamed as the guard's temper flared. "It's Taylor, and I'm pretty goddamn tired of your fucking mouth at this point, pinko," he growled, gritting his teeth. Hardly able to contain his mirth, Ivan waggled his finger at the man. "Now, now, _Taylor,_" dragging the title out with a sneer,"don't you know to respect your elders?" The last utterance had torn it for the guard, who replied with a series of swears and pointed his shotgun directly between the nation's eyes. A shot rang out almost immediately, but Alfred quickly jumped back after noticing the floor beside him turning crimson. Before he could say a word, another shot was fired, and by the time he'd drawn his pistol and aimed it at the Baltic, he looked up to see the nation's own revolver pointed back at him.

"You are an idiot to bring in your own imbeciles to act as guards, America."

"You're an idiot to think I wouldn't blow your brains against that wall myself, Russia."

A laugh.

"But you would not, and we both know that."

Both took a step toward the other.

"I'm the one with the courage. Enough to not stoop to covert action, asshole."

Alfred winced as he was shoved rather harshly against the wall beside him, and felt the warm barrel of Ivan's gun pressed to his jaw.

"Courage is a funny thing, America. Though it may be considered bravery, it cannot exist unless _fear_ exists also."

Twisting his head to remove the uneasy feeling of the barrel from his predentary, Alfred glared back at Ivan as the Russian laughed. "And from the way it is seeming…" emphasized with a swift movement of Ivan's knee, shoving Alfred back against the wall and eliciting a groan, "you _reek_ of fear."

Cerulean eyes were opened to meet Ivan's darkened violet orbs, and the corners of Alfred's mouth turned up into an all-American grin.

"Sorry to disappoint, but somehow I don't find playground bullies that frightening."

The smile was returned, childish and innocent enough to chill Alfred to the bone.

"You will_._"

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><p>The tension between these two is unbearable. I can't wait for the next few chapters, and trust me, they're going to be well worth the wait…<p> 


End file.
